


Amiir

by mikeymagee



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Defenders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3761017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikeymagee/pseuds/mikeymagee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They each have their own kingdoms to rule over. T'challa, Prince of Wakanda. Sam Wilson, Prince of the Sky. James Rhodes, Prince of the Just. Luke Cage, Prince of the People. Royalty not merely given, it is earned, and T'challa knows this...and he knows royalty when he sees it, and it is through him that these men learn how important they really are. </p><p>(And yes, there will be a little slash)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This was all new to him. Sam was never good at entertaining company, let alone a prince. Yet, T’challa sat on his armchair, his chin deep into his palm. Nick Fury had asked Sam for this one favor, show the prince a good time around New York. Apparently he came from Wakanda, one of the most technologically advanced nations in the world. If this went well, perhaps SHIELD would have a new ally against HYDRA. 

Sam didn’t like ulterior motives, if you had something you need to say, say it out right. Don’t sneak behind someone’s back. But still, he was never one to turn someone away if they asked for a favor. 

“How about we catch a little dinner?” Sam Wilson asked, and then he winced at the slight pun. A falcon, and a panther, out to catch dinner. Hell, if Natasha were here, she’d probably laugh at that, but Sam only felt his skin begin to crawl.

“And what,” T’challa leaned forward, his eyes glowed in the house’s shade, “Would you recommend?”

T’challa was handsome. Growing up, Sam had heard stories of princes and royalty. Regality that could only exist in faraway lands, but T’challa was like something from an old legend. Strong in spirit and body, and a deep sense of tranquility that Sam had never seen before…at least, not in the world of the West. 

“Uh…” Sam’s heart was beginning to skip, “We could get some pizza. I know a place right down the street.” Sam thumbed out his window. 

T’challa only smiled, “You know,” his voice was as smooth as vines, “I’ve been doing a little research on you Mr. Wilson.”

“Sam,” Sam said, “You can just call me Sam.”

T’challa smiled, “Alright, Sam. I must say…I am very impressed. Not only did you assist Captain America in his efforts, you also run a support group for soldiers, and your work with the Falcon initiative was simply remarkable.” Somehow, without Sam even realizing, the prince had found his was to Sam’s side. “I did not know such men existed in this country.”  
“What are you talkin’ about?” 

The Panther clan, from what Sam had heard, knew pretty much everything about every country. Surely T’challa knew about the Avengers, and how close the world had come to destruction. “The Avengers do way more than I do. If it weren’t for them-“

“No, the Avengers are a group of warriors who care more for their own egos. Common sense could have led them to the conclusion that Loki was after something on the Tri-carrier. He is the trickster god, is he not?” 

Well…that was true.

“But, you Sam Wilson…you are a true marvel. Placing the needs of others over your own.”

Sam only shrugged, “That’s what anyone would do.”

T’challa inched closer. He smelled like the earth. The fresh leaves of the jungle, the new dew of rain, senses that the city could never hope to claim. Earth had found its way back into New York’s walls.

“No, not anyone,” T’challa said, “That is what you would do…just as you would take in a complete stranger at Fury’s request.” 

T’challa moved closer, his lips were breathing on Sam’s neck. 

“In Wakanda, Falcons are considered the greatest hunters on the air, but what most people do not realize is that their cunning is second only to their loyalty. They are royalty in their own right.” 

T’challa’s voice was like night time, washing over a peaceful skyline.

“In that regard, you’re namesake is very fitting.” It was small, one quick peck to his lips. No grand song in the background, no fireworks to scare the neighbors. 

Just the quick realization of a prince’s mouth against a soldier’s.

“You taste like the sky, Prince Falcon.” 

A meeting of earth and sky…


	2. Meeting

“You know, you are incredible,” T’challa said as both he and Sam Wilson walked down the hallway of the Harlem Town Center. Sam had just finished his leading his support group. In Wakanda, warriors are returned home with open arms, celebrations, and more glory than anyone could hope to attain.

But, the same was not so in America. Soldiers, those who fought to defend this country’s liberty, were often treated as attack dogs who had lost their teeth. Ignored, forgotten, and shoved to the street with not even so much as a thank you. 

T’challa had read this country’s history, how it hid its shame behind Veteran’s Day parades, and shiny metals, but Sam’s support group…his people were the true heroes of America, the true veterans that never got their own welcoming.

And the sad part was, there were more and more of them every day.

“Uh…thanks?” Sam said, his face turning a small shade of red. “But, it’s not really me. I-it’s those men and women out there who deal with those issues.” 

As the two exited the building, the sunlight wrapped itself around Sam’s neck, and he looked up to the sky. Every now and then, T’challa caught Sam’s eyes, as he glanced up above him, as if waiting for something to return to him.

“Is something on your mind Prince Sam?” T’challa asked.

Sam’s shoulders shook at that name. For some reason, T’challa had taken to calling him “Prince”, and seeing as T’challa was a real prince, Sam didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed. 

“No, your majesty. It’s nothing. It’s just, when I said I’d take you to see Harlem, I didn’t think you’d request to sit in on my support group.”

T’challa laughed, “Well, why not? It is an honor to see you work with your people. Spreading hope like seeds, and watching you bring light into the lives of others. You are magic, my prince.” 

“Please stop calling me that,” Sam asked.

T’challa placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I would…but it suits you too well.”


	3. Prince of the Just

Rhodey pulled out his tool set, filled with everything he’d need. A pair of plyers for those loose strands, a welder to melt the damage away, and JARVIS to double check anything he might of missed.

“Colonel Rhodes,” speaking of JARVIS,

”Yeah Jarvis, what is it?”

“There appears to be someone at the door. I have already let him in and he is awaiting a proper greeting.”

Damn it.

Rhodey put down his plyers and sighed. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t just blow off his guest. At best it would ruin his reputation as a host, at worse, it could start and international incident. 

“Jarvis, tell him I’ll be right there.”  
Rhodey closed his ratchet set, and headed to the living room hallway. This…was not going to be fun. He walked slowly, taking in every inch of Tony’s place, trying to take up as much time as possible. There, on the   
left was the coffee table Tony and Pepper argued about buying. To the right was the wine stain Tony had left on the carpet, and there, coming up ahead was the door way the living room.

T’challa sat upon the couch as if it were a throne. He stood tall, did not slouch, his head tilted to the side, revealing a neck that looked more powerful than even Tony’s arc reactor.

“Ah, Colonel Rhodes. It is an honor to meet you.” 

Even his voice carried a strange presence that made Rhodey want to kneel.

“Prince T’challa,” Rhodey said, “I am quite sorry for the delay. Tony has stepped out for the-“

“It is just as well,” T’challa said, “I wish to speak to you anyway. It is not every day I get to meet such an amazing man.” 

Rhodey cocked his eyebrow. Amazing? Him? “Your majesty, are you sure you’re not speaking about Tony? I-I could-“

T’challa raised his hand, and Rhodey stopped speaking (it was almost as if he didn’t have a choice in the matter). 

“I know of Tony Stark, but it is you whom I wish to speak to. A man of your caliber must never go unpraised.” 

Rhodey felt his face turn a deep shade of red. “W-what?”

“People call Tony Stark the leader in all things forthcoming. The master of technology, and he may ever believe it to some extent.”

No…it believed it completely, that was something Rhodey knew.

“But his armor,” T’challa said, “Is not difficult to figure out, in fact, a first year engineering student could see the flaws in his design. Flaws I know you work to improve on.” T’challa raised his eye brow in a mock victory, as if daring Rhodey to disagree with him.

But that disagreement never changed. Rhodey had been working on some of Tony’s designs, because frankly (from a combat perspective) his armor (all of them) were flawed. Certain shots leaned too far to the left, his thrusters could be maximized if certain parts were removed. Mobility was always sacrificed for something that looked, in Tony’s words, “Cool.”

It was all flash, with no polish. 

“Besides your work with Stark, you’ve become something of a worldwide conundrum.” T’challa rose from the couch and stood in front of Rhodey, his eyes darting from his face to his nose, to his eyes, studying him.   
“What are you talking about?”

“You, flying around the world helping others wherever you can. Spreading justice to those who are in need of it. And if the need to help others arise, you go forward without hesitation, with no expectation of personal gain.”

Rhodey just shook his head, “That’s what Americans do.”

“Colonel Rhodes, please, even you know that’s not true. Despite what your country’s history would have others believe, America is not, nor ever has been, in the interest of helping others. Regardless, you wear its colors, and do just that.”

Rhodey just shrugged. Some of what the prince said was true, America wasn’t exactly squeaky clean, but what country was? Still, he didn’t have time to worry about that. There still was that distress signal that needed to be looked at.

“W-well, your majesty, I do need to be going. There-“

“The distress signal from the East right?” T’challa asked. “Yes, I know if it as well, and no doubt your superiors told you to forget about such a small matter. No personal gain there to be had for the military, right? No national press, no precious minerals that would fetch a high price. Just people in need. Yet you still plan on offering your aid, despite what others say.”

“Your majesty,” Rhodey said, “It’s just my job.”

“And you are the best at what you do, my friend. Others speak of justice, but you carry it with you like armor. You wrap it around your body and stand like royalty in its light.”

T’challa placed his hand Rhodey’s shoulder, “You stand for something far greater than mere press releases. You stand for justice in all its forms…I have never met a man who rules with such a noble heart.”

With one fell swoop, T’challa bowed. “I know you are busy with other matters, but still, I thank you for the meeting.” He turned.

“It was an honor to meet you, Rhodey, Prince of the Just.”


	4. Prince of the People

A Hero for Hire. That’s what the newspaper Ad said. Luke Cage ran his ragged finger tips over the old newspaper and smiled.

Kind of.

“Maybe I should have just made an Ad on Craig’s list.” 

His ceiling fan spun over his head, his office (if you could even call it that) was a piece of shit. The old wooden floor creaked every time he stepped on it, and his door would never shut, and right across the hall he could hear his neighbors fucking. Actually fucking.

He rubbed his hand against his shaved head, his palm felt like a goddamn cactus with all of its calluses. His skin was still so…rough. Still so incredibly durable that it felt like he wasn’t really feeling his own body.   
“Fucking scientists…treating me like some kind of…” he paused for the briefest of seconds, “animal.”

But was it really that different? Being locked away for a crime he never committed, being called a thug who deserved no justice. A Hood. A criminal. Someone who should have been shot down before he could do any damage. 

To them, he was just an animal. An animal they could test their new serum on and record the results with. An animal who was expendable. They injected him, prodded him, turned him into something he wasn’t.   
All for the sake of national security. 

His skin became unbreakable, his strength became multiplied. He was a tank. A fucking living tank. 

They released him…he was free…but that word no longer held any meaning for him. 

But he was more than some test subject. He would be more than that. He swore it. They tried to turn him into a monster…and instead he would become a hero.

“A Hero for Hire,” he said again as he shrugged his shoulders and flung the newspaper onto his desk. “Hey, even heroes had to eat, right?” 

“Absolutely.” 

Luke turned to his door way to see a man, with eyes that shined in the shadows. His skin was as dark as chestnuts. He was dressed in a baggy sweat shirt that clung to his shoulders, his hood was up and his sneakers looked like he had fished them from the garbage.

But this guy wasn’t some hood. No, Luke knew what hoods were. Hoods were men who had been beaten and took any means they could to get by. The news called them thugs, but Luke knew them as survivors. They had gleams in their eyes. A light that could slice through wood like a dull axe. Not very clean, and not very fast, but still able and willing. 

This guy had none of that. His eyes were swift and sharp, like an old sword cut from diamond. 

“And…you are?”

The man smiled, “I am your next customer.” He walked into the room and bowed his head.

Luke smiled, “Well, that is damn nice. It’s good to see that my ads are working.”

The man only chuckled, “You misunderstand. It was not your ads that brought me here, it was you. Only you.”

Luke would have offered his new employer a seat…but he didn’t really have one to spare, so Mr. Mystery would have to stand.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Luke began, “I don’t do illegal shit. I don’t steal. I don’t murder. I don’t hurt people. I find the bad guys…and I take them down. Questions?”

The man smiled once more, “Yes, Mr. Cake. You are a hero. Not of the grand world of Gods and Agencies, but of the common man, and it is why you are the perfect one for the job.” 

He held out his hand, “I am T’challa, Prince of Wakanda and I have an important assignment. Would you be willing to lend me your aid?”

Luke shrugged, “Sure. A job’s a job right?”

Luke Cage. Man of the streets, protector of the small. “In Wakanda, it is the common men who shape the kingdoms, not the other way around.”

“What?” Luke asked. 

How can you expect to change anything, if you have no idea what change is needed? If you don’t know the people need bread, how can you provide it?

“Nothing my friend. Come, I shall explain everything on the way.”

Luke Cage was a man of the streets, and the streets are the veins of all places. The streets know the footfalls of its people, and the hopes they carry with them. An ivory tower might be the home of royalty, but the cottage has more majesty than anyone could ever know. 

“Let us go, Luke Cage.”

Prince of the People.

**Author's Note:**

> Amiir is Somali for Prince. I love T'challa, Rhodey, and Sam, and Luke, Nick Fury, and Mike Peterson (whom I may add later). We need more fanfictions of these men together! Come on people, let's show them some love :)  
> #blackinfanfiction


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